


Slow Burn

by alby_mangroves



Series: Words, not art [12]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Boners, Blow Jobs, Cock Tease, Community: trope_bingo, Lampshade Hanging, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Battle, Sexual Tension, XMFC/DOFP Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has never wanted anything that was easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to professor for hosting the fantastic [XMFC/DOFP Porn Battle](http://professorofeljay.dreamwidth.org/2732.html) and to Asya_Ana and SignificantOwl for Beta and encouragement.
> 
> OP's prompt: Charles/Erik, awkward boner, cocktease!Erik
> 
> Also for my trope_bingo lampshade square.

Erik's not sure why he does it at first, why he luxuriates in it, drawing it out. It's unlike him. Normally he'd not linger over the act. A simple physical release in the shower now and again more than suffices, always has. He has never been ruled by his body's cravings. Certainly not while he’s a guest, even less so if he’s housed across the hall from his host.

Tonight though, he is removed somehow, looking at himself like he’s somebody else, like those aren’t his own hands stroking his body with such unhurried abandon and relish.

He hasn’t planned this, but he finds he no longer wishes to deny the air of anticipation between he and Charles, grown thicker with every shared grin and richer with every delightful bone of contention.

Erik has never wanted anything that was easy.

It's a calm night after a busy day. Everyone had been in a companionable mood during dinner, most of the youthful frolic having been beaten out of the children by the day's intense training. They had eaten together and the atmosphere had had a little of the holidays about it, the boys acting up, jovial and joking.

Erik had watched them quietly, feeling Charles’ eyes on him in turn, delicious warmth coiled inside him from the attention. Later, he and Charles had played chess and enjoyed a sharp discussion until Erik had excused himself, the play adjourned.

By the time Erik had returned to his room, it was near midnight. His equilibrium was perfect even when he was a couple of fingers down into the tumbler of Charles' good whisky, but he'd been feeling loose all day. Belligerent, made bold by Charles’ unwavering attention.

Now, having just come from enjoying Charles’ company and its usual intensity, Erik is ready.

The mansion is night-silent and in bed, Erik lets his hands wander, the glow of alcohol warm in his belly alongside the residual heat of Charles’ scrutiny. 

The window is ajar, curtains caressed by breaths of cool air, and the callouses of his hand feel dry and familiar as he scratches his fingers through the dark thatch at the base of his cock. His strokes are sure and measured. He's in no hurry. He jerks slow with one hand, tugs and rolls with the other until he’s good and hard. 

Thinking of a confident red grin often moistened by a clever tongue, Erik squeezes his cockhead between his fingers to coax out a fat bead of clear fluid and spreads it over hot skin to smooth the motion of his fist. He lets his thoughts meander where they will.

Charles’ forearms are wiry and freckled. His thighs have some meat on them, plenty for grasping with a wide-fingered grip. His wit is cutting and his cardigans are foppish and Erik can’t ever recall being so perfectly fascinated by another human being. 

He works himself for much longer than he normally would, building up to the edge then easing off, again and again, until his eyes are screwed shut and his arousal is a sweet, dull ache low in his gut.

When he comes, it's with a deep sigh, imagining pressing his opened hand between freckled shoulders while he drives his cock home into a tight, hot grip, and yes, oh yes, pleasure tingles all through his body, down to his very fingertips.

He waits out the sweet pulses, settles back into his body, then brings his hand to his face and licks at the frothy come between his fingers.

Across the hall, the quiet is broken by a curse and the smash of breaking glass.

Erik smiles.

***

He brings a book with him when he comes down to breakfast, walking into the kitchen with it shoved under his arm.

Alex and Hank stand over a ceramic bowl filled with pancake mix and debate the merits of seasoning to taste versus the science of exact measures. Charles isn’t looking at him, a glow high on the apples of his cheeks.

The opportunity is perfect and Erik’s inspired.

He takes even steps to stand between the boys, ignoring their protests as he dips his finger into the bowl and seats himself opposite Charles at the table. Stone-faced through Hank’s outraged huffing, Erik sucks the mixture off his finger with a long roll of his tongue. 

Charles’ throat clicks as he swallows.

Charles, the most powerful telepath Erik has ever encountered, could peek. He doesn't. Erik is counting on chipping away at him through the power of suggestion. He moistens his finger with a deliberate lick to turn the page of the book he’s not really reading.

Eating is a sensory feat, Erik relishing the slide of his lips over metal, curling his tongue under his fork with every bite.

Charles suffers through the meal in near silence as the mansion wakes up and the rest of the children spill out of their rooms. He’s still stiff-backed at the table when Erik catches his eye and gives him a parting nod on his way out.

***

Erik pushes himself harder when he runs, returning to the house sweaty and panting. He seeks out Charles and engages him in conversation, making sure to stand close enough to see Charles’ nostrils flare.

A warm flush creeps up Charles' throat when Erik stretches his arms, allowing his grey sweatshirt to ride up, the splash of cold air on his sweat-dampened belly pebbling his skin.

When Erik leaves, he feels eyes boring into his back with every step.

***

Charles isn’t alone in staring when Erik wears a short-sleeved polo shirt to dinner, but he’s the only one whose eyes scan up past his forearm to where Erik’s biceps fill the sleeves, and further up still to the opening at his throat. His gaze lingers there, returning again and again.

It takes all of Erik’s composure not to challenge this, to lean back in his chair and be admired, but he manages it with iron will, the way he manages everything. Success is measured in Charles’ uncomfortable posture, the small shifts in his chair.

It makes Erik want to push further.

Reaching out with his power, he knocks a small cigarette box from a bookshelf some rooms away, the resulting clatter enough to draw everyone’s attention - everyone’s but Charles’, who stares at Erik with wide, suspicious eyes.

Erik waits until everyone else’s heads are turned and takes a moment to stand up, adjust himself with a needlessly lingering grope at his crotch. He gives his cock a little squeeze just to be sure. He does not look at Charles until he sits back down, then simply holds his gaze.

Charles’ gasp dies in his throat.

***

It takes another two days of this slow, deliberate baiting for Charles to break, and Erik is ready for him, waiting in the library, passing a finger over spines of books as though he means to choose one to take to bed.

“I know what you’re doing,” Charles says quietly to Erik’s back, finally (finally!) broken by Erik’s elaborate torture.

He steps in closer and Erik holds perfectly still, though his heart beats hard and fast. Charles’ breath ghosts on the back of his neck.

“Do you now,” Erik says, turning his face a little to glance at Charles over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Charles whispers. “You’re trying to drive me to distraction.”

“On the contrary, Charles. I’m not trying. I’m succeeding.”

With that, he turns and captures Charles’ gaze. They’re standing so close, Erik witnesses the exact moment Charles really understands the efficiency with which he has been reeled in. Erik wonders how it feels to be on the receiving end for a change. Charles looks broken by it, wrecked.

When Erik kisses him, it’s like a dam breaking, Charles’ composure shattered into snatches of breathy moans Erik licks straight from his mouth. Charles’ grip on his shoulders is bruising. When they come apart to catch their breath, Charles’ pupils are blown wide and from the way he is looking at Erik, all heat and shock, he knows he himself has not fared much better. Inside, his body is humming with energy.

The taste of Charles is intoxicating. Erik’s lips tingle with it and he dips in again and again, snatching kisses until Charles is panting and his mouth is glossy-red. Erik presses his thumb to it and Charles opens for him, lets Erik slide his thumb inside. They both groan.

“Charles,” he says. Charles fixes his glassy eyes on him and curls his tongue around Erik’s thumb, listening.

“Give me your mouth,” Erik demands quietly, using his power to unlatch his belt, the teeth of his zipper uncoupling one by one.

Charles releases his thumb and folds to his knees without a word, eyes locked on the fat bulge of cock being unveiled between the wings of Erik’s flies.

“What are you doing to me,” Charles breathes brokenly, but he can’t seem to look away as Erik pushes down his trousers and takes himself in hand.

“Nothing that you won’t soon be doing right back to me,” Erik promises, then guides his cock between Charles’ red lips. His head knocks back against the bookshelf as Charles begins to suck him off.

He’s a hungry cocksucker, vocal and greedy, and Erik’s reeling with the blissed pleasure in Charles’ screwed-shut eyes as he groans and licks around Erik’s cockhead.

He tucks Erik into his cheek and cradles his tongue around him, looking up with sex-hurt eyes, then grapples his hips to the bookshelf and gorges himself on Erik’s cock until there are tears in his eyes and Erik can feel the wall of Charles’ throat working around him, and still he wants it, wants Erik’s cock so much, wants to slip his wet mouth over Erik’s balls and spread his ass on his fingers, and holy hell, those are Charles’ thoughts bleeding through. He’s leaking his lust for Erik’s body, the frustration and pent-up desire of the past few days flooding Erik like a burst water main.

“Oh fuck, yes, Charles,” is all he manages before he’s past the point of stopping, Charles massaging the come right out of him with his tongue and his wicked mouth and the strength of his own arousal for Erik.

When they crumple to the floor, they’re both breathless.

Charles rubs his hand over his face and laughs like he’s grieving. Wetness is seeping over his groin in a dark patch, his trousers still tented. He’d not even gotten a hand on himself.

“My god, Erik,” he says, closing his eyes and catching his breath. His lips are puffy. Erik wants to spread them open with his tongue, suck them until they’re lipstick red. “You have no idea how awkward the past few days have been.”

“Oh, but I do,” Erik says and Charles blinks at him. “It’s only going to get worse from now on.”

“You get off on this,” Charles says wonderingly, probably reassessing Erik’s motives.

Erik grins.

Later, as they slip between Charles’ cool sheets with their cocks hard again and rubbing against each other, he plots the best way to corner Charles and make him watch Erik fellate a pen where he can’t do a single thing about it.


End file.
